& #roup of 
theatrical Caricatures 




BEING TWELVE PLATES BY 

W. J. GLADDING 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND BIOGRAPHICAL 
SKETCHES BY 

LOUIS EVAN SHIPMAN 




$u&Iicationg of CJjc SDunlap £otictp* $eto &mt$ $o, 4* 
#ctte§or&, 1897, 



This is one of an edition of two hundred and sixty 
copies printed for the Dunlap Society in the month 
of December 1897. 




, (£&£>"£*•***' ¥&\ 



A GROUP OF 
THEATRICAL CARICATURES 



A GROUP OF 
THEATRICAL CARICATURES 



BEING TWELVE PLATES BY 
W.J. GLADDING 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND BIOGRAPHICAL 
SKETCHES BY 
/ 

LOUIS EVAN SHIPMAN 




NEW YORK 

THE DUNLAP SOCIETY 

1897 



t 



d 



H 



*4 






Copyright, 1897, by 
Louis Evan Shipman 



'? 



INTRODUCTION. 



IF it were the intention of this introduction to trace 
the story of caricature back through the middle 
ages to its primal origin, as some claim, on the papyri 
of the Egyptians, it would lose much of the brevity 
that has been planned for it and serve but little pur- 
pose. For those who want a history of caricature 
there are numberless Encyclopedias of art. This little 
foreword is merely to introduce the twelve caricatures 
that form the chief interest of this publication of the 
Dunlap Society, and to give their short history as it is 
known to me. 

In 1868, a Mr. W. J. Gladding, then an assistant in 
the famous Fredericks photographic gallery, drew the 
caricatures for Colonel T. Allston Brown, in whose 
possession they remained for twenty-two years. He 
disposed of them to a dealer in theatrical curiosities 
named Walsh, from whom I purchased them in 1892; 
that is, I purchased eleven of them — the one of Flor- 
ence as Bob Brierly was missing — and for that mat- 
ter is missing to-day, but, curiously enough, Mr. 
Evert Jansen Wendell, who now has the original 
eleven, picked up a photograph of the missing one, 



vm 



3[ntto&uction. 



and in that way made it possible to present the com- 
plete group of plates. 

It is needless to say that they have little if any ar- 
tistic quality, but they are valuable and interesting in 
as far as they give the likeness and characteristics of 
their originals, and this they do surprisingly. 

The rarity of theatrical caricatures is really aston- 
ishing when one considers the numberless photographs, 
engravings, sketches, and paintings there are of actors, 
but few even of the largest dramatic collections have 
anything of the sort, and one has to arrive at the con- 
clusion that actors have comparatively been very sel- 
dom caricatured. Whether this is because they are 
in a way caricaturists themselves I don't know ; it 
seems plausible enough, but the fact nevertheless re- 
mains, and I think the members of the Dunlap Society, 
in having these presented to them, can congratulate 
themselves on the possession of an altogether unique 
collection of plates. 

In the little biographical sketches that accompany 
them I have aimed at no particular completeness, 
dwelling only on those incidents which seemed more 
important, and on occasion giving some reminiscence 
or anecdote that might lay claim to novelty or espe- 
cial interest. I commend them to the leniency of all 
students of our stage history. To others they may 
furnish their own excuse for being. 

Louis Evan Shipman. 
The Players, November, 1897. 



SloJjn SSrougljam* 







JOHN BROUGHAM. 



JOHN BROUGHAM. 



FOR nearly forty years, as actor, manager, and play- 
wright, John Brougham, save for the period cov- 
ering the Civil War, which was spent in London, was 
constantly before the New York public, a public no- 
where near so vast and conglomerate as that which 
supports the play-houses of to-day, and whose re- 
lations with its entertainers was therefore of a much 
more intimate and personal character. And even in 
those days when stage favorites were favorites indeed, 
Brougham seems to have been singled out for particu- 
lar approval. Born in Dublin in 1810, of gentle fam- 
ily, he followed the path of most Irish young gentle- 
men, prepared for and entered Trinity College, and 
afterward studied medicine. The insidious influence 
of private theatricals was too much for him, however, 
and he journeyed to London intent on entering the 
" profession," which he did in 1830. His experiences 
for ten years in and out of London were varied and 
valuable, from playing small parts under Madame 
Vestris at the Olympic, and later with Charles Mathews 
at Covent Garden, to the management of the Lyceum, 
which resulted disastrously, as did all his future mana- 

3 



4 €jjeatricai Caricatured 

gerial attempts, and from the writing of numberless, 
now forgotten farces and burlesques, to collaboration 
with Mark Lemon and Dion Boucicault. Indeed, we 
have very good authority for the statement that he 
suggested the idea of " London Assurance " to Bouci- 
cault, receiving half the sum paid for the piece. 

His first appearance in New York was at the old 
Park Theater, and with the exception of the interim I 
have mentioned the rest of his life was spent here. 
There is no need to record the story of his career in 
New York : older members of the Dunlap Society are 
familiar with it, and it is easily accessible to the younger 
through Dr. Benjamin Ellis Martin's admirable little 
biography in the " Actors and Actors of Great Britain 
and America " series. 

John Brougham was among the last of a group of 
Irishmen on the stage that for personal charm, grace, 
and humor, we will probably never see equaled. 
Tyrone Power, John Drew, W. J. Florence, and John 
Brougham are only names now, but the memory of 
them brings smiles and tears to the old playgoer's 
face ; what have we youngsters to look forward to ? 

In conclusion, I have thought it would be of interest 
to quote the lines on tobacco from his most amusing 
burlesque " Pocahontas " and the vision of the new 
world from his " Columbus." 

The first he delivered in the character of "ZT. J. Pow- 
hatan 7, King of the Tuscaroras — a crotchetty mon- 
arch, in fact a semi-brave." It is in this part that the 
accompanying caricature represents him. The apos- 
trophe to the pipe is this : 



Cicatrical Caricature^ 



While other joys one sense alone can measure 
This to all senses gives extatic pleasure. 
You feel the radiance of the glowing bowl, 
Hear the soft murmurs of the kindling coal, 
Smell the sweet fragrance of the honey-dew, 
Taste its strong pungency the palate through, 
See the blue cloudlets circling to the dome 
Imprisoned skies up floating to their home. 

As Don Christoval Colon, alias Columbus, — a clair- 
voyant voyager whose filibustering expedition gave 
rise at the time to a world of speculation, — he deliv- 
ered the following, the king serving as a " feeder." 

King. Just as sure as fate 

He 's in a beautiful clairvoyant state ! 
Columbus ! Why are you in such amaze ? 

Col. Time onward passes, and my mental gaze 
Is on the future, lo ! I see a land 
Where nature seems to frame with practised hand 
Her last most wonderous work ! before me rise 
Mountains of solid rock that rift the skies, — 
Imperial vallies with rich verdure crowned 
For leagues illimitable smile around, 
While through them subject seas for rivers run 
From ice bound tracts to where the tropic sun 
Breeds in the teeming ooze strange monstrous things — 
I see upswelling from exhaustless springs, 
Great lakes appear upon whose surface wide 
The banded navies of the earth may ride, 
I see tremendous cataracts emerge 
From cloud aspiring heights, whose slippery verge 
Tremendous oceans momently roll o'er, 
Assaulting with unmitigated roar 
The stunned and shattered ear of trembling day 
That wounded, weeps in glistening tears of spray! 

King. We grieve your sensibility to shock, 



€ljeattical Caricature^ 



See something else or down will go our stock. 
Col. I see upspringing from the fruitful breast 

Of the beneficent and boundless West, 

Uncounted acres of life-giving grain, 

Wave o'er the gently undulating plain, 

So tall each blade that you can scarcely touch 

The top ! 
King. Ah ! now, my blade, you see too much. 
Col. Within the limits of the southern zone 

I see plantations, thickly overgrown 

With a small shrub in whose white flower lies 

A revenue of millions ! 
King. You surprise 

Us now, we '11 cotton to that tree ! 

Go on, old fellow, what else do you see ? 
Col. Some withered weeds — 

King. Pooh ! 

Col. From which men can evoke 

Profit as wonderful ! 
King. From what ? 

Col. From smoke. 

King. Ah, now you 're in the clouds again. Good gracious ! 

Think of the stock, and don't be so fugacious. 
Col. I see a river, through whose limpid stream, 

Pactolus like, the yellow pebbles gleam ; 

Flowing through regions, where great heaps of gold, 

Uncared for, lie in affluence untold, 

Thick as autumnal leaves, the precious store. 
King. My eyes ! why did n't you see that before ? 

We '11 go ourself, we mean we shall " go in." 

Go on. 
Col. I see small villages begin, 

Like twilight stars, to peep forth timidly, 

Great distances apart ; and now I see 

Towns, swol'n to cities, burst upon the sight, 

Thick as the crowded firmament at night. 

I see brave science, with inspired soul, 



Cicatrical Caricature^ 



Subdue the elements to its control ; 

On iron ways, through rock and mountain riven, 

Impelling mighty freights, by vapor driven ; 

Or with electric nerves so interlace 

The varied points of universal space. 

Thought answers thought, though scores of miles be- 
tween — 

Time is outstripped 

King. We 're not so jolly green. 

My friend, come, ain't you getting rather steep ? 

We beg to probability you '11 keep. 

What see you now ? 
Col. The plethora of wealth 

Corrupt and undermine the general health. 

I see vile madd'ning fumes incite to strife, 

Obscure the sense and whet the murderer's knife. 

I see dead rabbits 



which goes to show that Brougham, with all his fool- 
ing, had something of the prophet in him too. 

Eventually Columbus sets out on his perilous voyage 
but is endangered by the mutiny of his sailors. Co- 
lumbia very opportunely appears and quells them as 
follows : 

Enter Columbia. 
Colum. She 's here ! 

[Sailors shrink back in affright. 
Col. I 'm saved ! 

Colum. What means this horrid din ? 

If it 's a free fight, you can count me in ! 
So many against one, now understand 
To aid the weak I '11 always be on hand ! 



Cicatrical Caricature^ 



Col. The Indian Empire 's mine, your threats I mock 

Rebellious -SVapoys, now /"have-a-lock," 

Will shut you up ! 
Sancho. Hallo ! My precious wig, 

Here 's a strange craft with a new fangled rig ! 

Where do you hail from ? 
Colum. Back, senseless crew ! 

'T is just such mindless reprobates as you 

That mar the calculations of the wise, 

And clog the wheels of glorious enterprize ! 
Pedro. Pshaw ! this palaver, ma'm 's all very well, 

But where we 're driving to if you could tell, 

We 'd like it better. 
Colum. \To Columbus]. You are not so blind 

But in the passing current you can find 

Sure indications that the land is near. 
Col. Within my heart I thought so, but the fear 

Of raising hopes the end might not fulfil, 

Stifled the new-born thought, and kept me still. 

See ! See ! What 's floating there ? 
Sancho. By jingo ! greens ! 

And now I smell — 
Pedro. What ? Orange groves ? 

Sancho. No, pork and beans ! 
Pedro. Hogs ! then hurrah ! our tribulation ends, 

It 's very clear we 're getting among friends ! 
Bartol. Look, look, here 's something else now passing by. 

{They fish up a piece of Connecticut pastry. 
All. What is it ? 

Colum. What, you pumps, why pumpkin-pie ! 
Sancho. What 's this ? 

[Fishes up immense walking-stick with knobs on it. 
A knobby stick ; and on the knob 

Inscribed distinctly — 
AIL What? 



€|)catricai Caricatured 



Sancho. 


" The Empire Club. 




" The owner fitly will reward the finders 




" If it 's returned — " 


All. 


To whom ? 


Sancho. 


" To Marshall Rynders." 




[ A Play-Bill is fished up. 


All. 


What 's this ? 


Co him. 


A bill of Burton's Theatre, you noodles ! 


Col. 


What are they doing now there ? 


Co him. 


" Sleek and Toodles." 


Col. 


I hear the birds. 



Colum. They 're cat-birds if you do. 

Col. The cat-bird's song must be " the wild sea-mew," 

There 's music somewhere nigh. 

Colum. Don't be emphatic, 

It 's Dodworth's band on board the Adriatic, 
She '11 pass us soon upon her trial trip, 
Look at her well, Columbus, such a ship 
You never saw — and never will, I swow, 
Unless he dream it, as he 's doing now. 

\_The Adriatic passes across, the Band playing " Yankee Doodled 

Colum. See where she steams majestically down. 

Sancho. My eyes and limbs, why, it 's a floating town ! 

Col. Right against wind and tide and not a sail, 
The Flying Dutchman, that is, without fail : 
Hurrah ! look there, I '11 take my oath I spy land ! 

Cohim. Of course you do. 

Col. What is it ? 

Colum. Coney Island ! 

[All the sailors cluster around Columbus. 

Sancho. Oh, glorious admiral, upon our knees 

We ask forgiveness — 
Col. See what men are these 

Attired in such extraordinary style ? 



jo €j>eatrical <ffancatute£* 



Colum. They are the magnates of Manhatta's Isle. 

Every distinguished guest they're bound to meet 
And feed — Don't fear, they can afford to treat, 
For hospitality 's a public trait, 
Therefore the public can't object to pay. 

These are but specimens of Brougham's fooling, 
taken at random. There are hundreds of others 
equally good, and it seems to me they might well 
bear resuscitation. 



Solm %t$ttt i©allarft 







JOHN LESTER WALLACE. 



JOHN LESTER WALLACK. 



THERE is no name more intimately or more 
proudly connected with the American stage than 
that of Wallack. From the year 1818, when the elder 
Wallack, James William, made his first appearance in 
America at the Park Theater, down to the present 
time, the Wallack family has been represented on the 
play-bills of our theaters almost continuously. It was 
only yesterday that I saw on a Philadelphia bill of a 
play called " A Ward of France," the name of Lester 
Wallack, the grandson of the subject of this little 
sketch. 

John Johnstone Wallack, or, as most of his biogra- 
phers have it, John Lester Wallack, was born in New 
York in the year 1820, on the first visit of his father 
and mother to this country. He was taken back to 
England while still an infant, and his childhood and 
youth were passed in that country ; the effects of the 
training and associations of his early life were very 
marked always, and his extreme partiality for persons 
and things English was always noticeable. 

He was intended for the army, but the family tradi- 
tion pushed aside all thought of arms as a profession, 

13 



€tjeatrical Caricature^ 



and he commenced his apprenticeship by the usual 
provincial routine, which finally, in 1846, led to a 
London engagement at the Haymarket, under Web- 
ster's management. It was in the next year that he 
made his first appearance in New York at the old 
Broadway Theater, in the character of Sir Charles 
Coldstream in " Used Up." Then, and for years after, 
in fact until the opening of the second Wallack's 
Theater — what is now the Star — in 1861, his name 
appeared on all bills as " Mr. Lester." And for the 
next six years this " Mr. Lester," now at the Bowery, 
next at Burton's, then at Niblo's, and almost every 
other theater in the town, began to build the refuta- 
tion that will carry his name forward in dramatic 
annals as one of the most charming, dashing, and facile 
comedians that ever graced the stage. 

In 1852 his father opened the first Wallack's Thea- 
ter, at Broadway and Broome Street, and he joined his 
fortunes with the house that eventually became so 
closely identified with himself. Here for nine years 
he ranged through comedy, farce, and melodrama, 
even trying his hand at dramatization with no little 
success. His best known and most successful play, 
" Rosedale," was produced after the move from 
Broome Street to Thirteenth Street and Broadway, 
which took place in 186 1. I had the pleasure once, 
when a lad of fifteen or sixteen, of seeing him as Elliot 
Gray in that play, and I still have a vivid impression 
of the gallant, comely figure he made. The good for- 
tune was mine, too, to see him several times later, and 
I particularly remember him as Young Mar low in " She 



Cicatrical Caricatured 15 

Stoops to Conquer," and as Colonel White in " Home." 
Always delightfully cool and self-possessed, with the 
well-bred, well-poised manner of the experienced gen- 
tleman, it causes no wonder, as one reads now, that 
he was the idol of the town. His father dying in 
1864, the management of the theater devolved upon 
him, and for nearly twenty years he bent his best ener- 
gies to giving the public a theater that was a credit to 
its intelligence and taste. There was no place for the 
speculative manager in those days : he is a modern 
product, and the worst I can say of him is that the 
modern playgoer deserves him ! Lester Wallack lived 
to see the new order of things, but as long as his 
hand was at the managerial helm, there was no lower- 
ing of standards. 

On January 4, 1882, Wallack's made its last move 
to the corner of Thirtieth Street and Broadway. Les- 
ter Wallack retained the management until 1887, act- 
ing occasionally there, but more frequently " starring " 
in other cities. His last appearance as an actor was 
May 29, 1886, at the Grand Opera House, over on 
Twenty-third Street and Eighth Avenue. He played 
Young Mar low with John Gilbert and Madame 
Ponisi as Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle. Two years later, 
on the night of May 21, after a most wonderful per- 
formance of" Hamlet," given by his fellow-players in 
his honor, he made the last speech the public — his 
public — were ever to hear. I can remember now 
the erect figure, with the almost leonine head covered 
with white, leaning slightly on the table at his side, 
and speaking the last words to the enormous audience 



16 €i)eatrical Caricature^ 

that was there to greet him. The occasion had more 
than ordinary significance : it was a visible passing of 
the old order of things dramatic, and the feeling with 
which he made his adieux was communicated to 
those who sat before him. They were not to look 
upon his like again. He died the following September. 



<£fctoin tfomgt 




EDWIN FORREST. 



EDWIN FORREST. 



IF the reader will scrutinize the Forrest plate care- 
fully, he will make out the dim penciled inscrip- 
tion underneath the figure. " The Great head Centre," 
it reads, and though written with comic intent, it 
serves admirably as a terse description of Forrest's 
position on the American stage. In his day he was 
" The Great head Centre." 

He was born in Philadelphia in 1806, and when but 
a lad of fourteen made his first public appearance as 
Young Norval in " Douglas." The success of the 
boy was such that he was permitted to choose the 
stage as his profession, and while the drudgery of his 
novitiate was no less irksome to him than to the many 
others who have traveled the same path, yet recogni- 
tion and success came to him earlier. 

He played " Othello " at the Bowery Theater in 
1826, and reached in one night the top round. His 
success was assured and fortune smiled upon him. 
In 1834 he went abroad and again in 1836, when his 
success in London in such characters as Sfiartacus, 
Lear, Macbeth, and Othello, was extraordinary. It 
was during this visit to England that he became en- 
gaged to and married Miss Catherine Sinclair. 
19 



20 Cicatrical Caricature^ 



His return to America was made almost a matter 
of national importance and his tour of the principal 
cities was a triumphant progress of the nation's greatest 
actor. Then followed eight or nine years of uninter- 
rupted prosperity, during which fortune kept pace 
with his fame. He went to London again in 1845, 
and there the clouds began to gather that eventually 
embittered and broke his life. On his opening night 
he was received with hisses, and a few nights later he 
was compelled to close his engagement. 

Forrest furiously charged Macready, the great Eng- 
lish actor, with this attempt to drive him from the 
London stage, and some weeks later took occasion to 
publicly show his feelings by hissing Macready during 
a performance of " Hamlet " in the provinces. This 
was the beginning of the quarrel that a few years 
later, in 1848, on the occasion of Macready 's next 
visit to America, resulted so tragically. 

From the first moment of the English actor's 
arrival theater-goers were divided into two hostile 
camps. Macready made foolish speeches before the 
curtain, and Forrest made bitter responses. It all 
culminated on the night of May 10, 1849, when 
Macready was playing in " Macbeth " at the Astor Place 
Opera House. The theater was surrounded by a 
howling, senseless mob, who almost demolished the 
building with a storm of missiles. The Seventh Regi- 
ment had been called out as a precautionary measure, 
and when the rioters were ordered to disperse, they 
turned furiously upon the troops and attacked them. 
Thirty of the rabble were killed, and many of the 



Cicatrical Caricature^. 21 

soldiers were seriously hurt, among them Mr. Douglas 
Taylor, then a young private in the Seventh, now 
President of the Dunlap Society — a link with the 
past that serves wonderfully to keep alive the realiza- 
tion that this was all but yesterday. Macready es- 
caped to Boston and returned to England, profoundly 
affected by the terrible ending of the petty quarrel, 
while Forrest was no less shocked at its fatal outcome. 

Only a few years were to pass till the other great 
tragedy of Forrest's life, his divorce, took place. I 
mention it here simply because it was an extraordi- 
nary case, contested with great bitterness and determi- 
nation on both sides, and resulting, as it did, disastrously 
to Forrest, who brought the original suit, had a tre- 
mendous influence over his future career. I go into 
no details, for they are given at length in Alger's 
admirable life. To Mrs. Forrest alone was granted a 
divorce, and the fees which Forrest was forced to pay 
amounted to nearly two hundred thousand dollars. 
His pride was somewhat assuaged, however, by the 
tremendous outburst of enthusiasm which everywhere 
greeted his return to the stage, but his spirit was never 
the same afterward. 

He toured the country for several years, but eventu- 
ally retired to his home in Philadelphia for a well- 
earned rest, and it was in an ill-advised moment that 
four years later he emerged into public once more. 
His success was enormous, and he played in " Ham- 
let," "Lear," " Othello," "Richard III," "The Gladi- 
ator," " Damon and Pythias," " Richelieu," " Jack 
Cade," " Virginius," and " Metamora " at Niblo's 



22 



Cicatrical Caricature^ 



Garden to a generation of theater-goers that knew 
him only by reputation; but already his wonderful 
powers were on the wane, and the succeeding years 
found them dwindling away, until there was but a 
spark of the old fire left when he made his last ap- 
pearance as an actor in Boston at the Globe Theater, 
April 2, 1872. "Richelieu" was the play, and the 
curtain fell on the prophetic line : " So ends it." 

He died on September 12th of the same year in 
Philadelphia. The Forrest Home for aged actors, in 
Philadelphia, which he amply endowed, is a memorial 
to the man's generosity. His genius as an actor is 
little more than a memory now. But it is a duty for 
all chroniclers of the American stage to pass on the 
tradition of his greatness. He was a great actor and 
worthy of that tradition. 



<£btoin 95ootJ). 




EDWIN BOOTH. 



EDWIN BOOTH. 



TT would seem that the last necessary word had been 
written about Edwin Booth. What with the ample 
and sympathetic " Life " by William Winter, and the 
reminiscences of various friends that have appeared in 
one form or another at different times recently, there 
seems little if anything left to say. And yet in this 
group of twelve, there is no man about whom it would 
give me such pleasure to write. I have distinct and 
vivid impressions of many of the occurrences of the 
last few years of his life, and I treasure immensely the 
remembrance of those last gentle months which he 
spent at the Players. Of course, I was but one of a 
mixed many that passed before him in those days, but 
I have the special memory of several anecdotal winter 
afternoons, spent, with only two or three others, in 
company with the Master. His favorite nook in the 
Players was a corner in the front of the reading-room, 
and there, ensconced in a huge grandfather chair, he 
spent many an afternoon in the winter of 1892-93; 
dropping at times into delightful reminiscence, and 
then again showing a lively interest in the events 
of the day. Always cheerful, simple, courteous, and 
4 25 



26 €ljeatrical Caricatured 

sympathetic, the brave gentleman, weighed with the 
burden of ill-health, won the affection of all who 
had the happy chance of knowing him. But I run far 
ahead of my story — or rather his — and I must give 
the full quota of biographical dates that is called for 
by a sketch of this sort, or be charged with neglect of 
duty. 

Edwin Thomas Booth was born at Belair in Har- 
ford County, Maryland, in 1833. His father, Junius 
Brutus Booth, was one of the great tragedians of the 
early part of the century, being rivaled only by Kean 
himself. He was thirty-seven years old at the time of 
Edwin's birth, and at the height of his power and suc- 
cess. At a very early age Edwin became the com- 
panion of his father on the latter's professional tours 
about the country, and there grew up between the two 
an extraordinary attachment that had a lasting and 
important influence on the younger man's life. The 
somber, erratic genius of the father stamped itself on 
the impressionable and sympathetic boy, whose tem- 
perament and nature were much akin to his parent's. 

When but sixteen years old he made his first ap- 
pearance on the stage at the Boston Museum, playing 
Tressel to his father's Richard III., and very success- 
fully, too ; and not very long afterward he played the 
part of Richard himself at the National Theater, New 
York. 

In 1852 he was playing in California with his father, 
who shortly died, leaving Edwin and an older brother, 
Junius Brutus Booth, Jr., playing together in the West. 
They journeyed to the Sandwich Islands, and even as 



€J)eattical Caricature^. 27 

far as Australia, then back again to California, steadily 
learning and improving in the actor's bitter school of ex- 
perience. Boston was the scene of his first appearance 
as a " star." In the spring of 1857 he played Sir Giles 
Overreach, and was splendidly successful. The follow- 
ing month he played Richard III. at the Metropolitan 
Theater in New York, and there established himself 
as the coming tragedian. Forrest's star was on the 
wane; the elder Wallack was playing his farewell 
engagements, and there were no other rivals in the 
field, which was soon to be his alone, and over which 
he held undisputed sway for the rest of his life. 

In i860 he married Miss Mary Devlin, and in the 
following year made his first visit to England. Open- 
ing at the Haymarket in the " Merchant of Venice," 
he played a round of the stock characters, with but 
indifferent success, until at the end of his engagement 
" Richelieu " was produced. In that he made a de- 
cided impression, but he was unable to follow it up, 
as he was compelled to return to the States. His wife 
died in 1863, a tremendous blow that found its only 
alleviation in hard, all-engrossing work. He took a 
lease of the Winter Garden Theater in conjunction 
with his brother-in-law Clarke and William Stuart, and 
on November 26, 1864, the famous one hundred night 
run of" Hamlet" began. It was an artistic and com- 
plete production in every respect, and established 
Booth's position beyond cavil. After its finish in 
New York it was produced in Boston, but its run 
there was interrupted on April 14 by the great tragedy 
that threw the country into consternation and that for 



28 Cicatrical Caricature^ 



the moment blotted out entirely Booth's career. It was 
on the night of April 14 that his brother John Wilkes 
Booth assassinated President Lincoln. I have heard 
a story, no doubt apocryphal, that it was the following 
morning before the news was brought to Edwin, and 
then in this way : His colored body-servant entered his 
room and asked, " Have you heard the news, Massa 
Edwin ? " " What news ? " " Mr. Lincoln has been 
murdered." "Murdered!" "Yes. Massa Wilkes shot 
him last night ! " The story is brutal enough to be true, 
but, however the word was brought to him, he was over- 
whelmed by the calamity and retired from the stage. 

His sensitive, almost morbid nature never recov- 
ered from that shock and the memory of it was al- 
ways near the surface. I remember an incident that 
occurred in 1 891, after almost thirty years, which illus- 
trates this. A young man just elected to membership in 
the Players thought to show his appreciation of the 
honor by presenting some token or relic to the beloved 
founder of the club. He bought a play-bill of the per- 
formance which President Lincoln attended on the 
night of his assassination, and presented it to Mr. 
Booth one afternoon at the Players. The dear old 
gentleman after one glance at it turned pale, and in 
great agitation left the room. He was seen later in his 
apartments by one of his oldest friends, and he had 
somewhat recovered his equanimity, and with his 
gentleness and accustomed consideration for others he 
remarked : "I think I should take it as a compliment 
that the present generation seems to have forgotten 
entirely my connection with that bitter tragedy." 



€()catrical Caricatured 29 

There is a little touch of irony in the fact that the 
young man's play-bill was a spurious one. 

Mr. William Winter says that only necessity brought 
Booth back to the stage, and one can well believe it. 
He reappeared in New York at the Winter Garden in 
1866, and received an ovation, and on his subsequent 
tour through the country he was greeted everywhere 
generously and cordially. But he never acted in 
Washington again. The Winter Garden was destroyed 
in 1867, but the following year, in April, saw the corner- 
stone laid for a new Booth's Theater at the corner of 
Twenty-third Street and Sixth Avenue. Nearly a 
million dollars was spent in its erection, and Booth 
devoted all his time, energy, and experience in its be- 
half. The most splendid productions of the standard 
drama ever seen in this country were given there, and 
the whole enterprise was dedicated to art. But either 
the time was not ripe for the enterprise, or else the busi- 
ness management was not what it should have been, 
and in 1874 the theater which he had given the best 
in him to found passed out of his hands. 

Mr. Winter quotes from a manuscript note of Booth's 
referring to his non-success : " I had no desire for gain. 
My only hope was to establish the pure, legitimate 
drama in New York, and by my example to incite 
others, actors and managers, to continue the good 
work." A Utopian dream, as far, if not further, from 
realization in our day than it was in his. 

In 1869 Booth married Miss Mary McVickar, who, 
as Mr. Winter says, was "remarkable for practical 
administrative ability in the affairs of business and so- 



3° Cicatrical Caricature^ 



cial life, rather than for conspicuous talent in acting. 
She possessed neither the figure, the countenance, the 
voice, nor the personal charm that are essential for 
great success upon the stage, and her acting, although 
intelligent, was devoid of both tenderness and power. 
She acted all along the range, from Lady Macbeth to 
Ophelia" Mrs. Booth lived for twelve years after her 
marriage, dying in 1881. 

Booth never attempted management again; the rest 
of his career he entrusted himself to the management 
of others. He went to England in 1880 and had a 
moderately successful engagement in London, winding 
up with a few joint performances with Henry Irving at 
the Lyceum, Booth playing Othello^ Irving lago, 
and Miss Terry Desdemona. For this engagement the 
prices of the theater were doubled, and the Lyceum 
was packed night after night. Too much cannot be 
said in praise of Mr. Irving's generosity and thought- 
fulness toward his brother artist. And it is a satisfac- 
tion to know that Americans have never forgotten it. 
Again in 1882 he played in London and the provinces, 
and in January, 1883, he appeared at the Resedenz 
Theater in Berlin. His success there was followed by 
similar successes in the smaller German cities, and also 
in Vienna. He returned home in the summer of that 
year and never again ventured abroad, though he often 
said his visit to Germany was one of the most delight- 
ful episodes of his life. 

The next ten years were given up to starring tours 
about the country, with occasional intermissions for 
rest. In 1885 he played in New York with Ristori, 



Cicatrical Caricature^ 3* 



and in 1886 he and Salvini acted together. The fol- 
lowing year he joined his fortunes with Mr. Lawrence 
Barrett, and under the management of that intelligent 
actor the combination thrived to a very extraordinary 
degree, and Booth's share of the profits was a nucleus 
for the considerable fortune that he left at the time of 
his death. 

Mr. Barrett died suddenly in 1891, and on April 
4 of that year Booth made his last appearance on the 
stage in the Brooklyn Academy of Music. The play 
was " Hamlet," and though there was no announce- 
ment that it was to be his last performance, the theater 
was packed with an audience that showed keenly how 
impressive the occasion was. I shall never forget 
how we hung on the great actor's every word, and 
watched his every movement. His Hamlet, always 
an exquisitely beautiful performance, clear, simple, and 
wonderfully dignified, was never given with finer feel- 
ing or better effect. He was called time and again 
after the final fall of the curtain, and was forced at 
last to make a little speech. In the streets a crowd 
that completely filled the street had massed itself to 
witness his departure from the theater, and there were 
loud cheers as he drove away. 

His health never permitted him to act again, and 
the two years that remained to him were spent mostly 
at his apartments in the Players, that monument to 
his generosity and thoughtfulness for which men of all 
arts and professions have to be thankful. There, sur- 
rounded by many old friends, he passed his last days, 
happy in the prosperity of the club which he had 



32 €fjeatritai Caricature^ 



founded, and to the end taking an active interest in 
its affairs. 

He died in his apartments there, June 8, 1893, and 
was buried in the beautiful Mount Auburn Cemetery 
at Cambridge, Mass. More versatile actors may have 
lived, but never a greater. 



i©flliam % jfforatcc* 




TiC 






WILLIAM J FLORENCE. 



WILLIAM J. FLORENCE. 



FLORENCE was one of the last of the old-school 
comedians, and he was one of the best. I should 
rank him not one whit below Jefferson, and in so do- 
ing would honor him no less than Jefferson, whose 
professional companion he was during the last seasons 
of his professional career. The present generation of 
theater-goers should be thankful for the memory of 
his Sir Lucius O' Trigger (one of the most charming 
and delightful performances I ever saw, full of ele- 
gance, dash, and humor) ; and if some years before 
they were in the theater when they should have been 
at home abed, they will have youthful remembrance 
of his Captain Cuttle, Bardwell S/ote, and Obenreizer. 
I have such a remembrance, and treasure it, though it 
is a rather vague one — none the less so as I looked 
upon stage happenings in those days from a great 
height. 

William Jermyn Florence was born at Albany, New 
York, in 1831, and, like Brougham, and so many 
others, found the straight path to his profession 
through the door which the amateur stage flung open 
to him. He made his first professional appearance in 
35 



3 6 Cicatrical Caricature^ 



New York in 1850 at Niblo's Garden, then under the 
management of Brougham and Chippendale, in a 
small part, and, after several seasons of those actors' 
bugbears, " small parts," he was intrusted with better 
things. His first real " hit " was made at the Lyceum, 
still under Brougham's management, in the " Row at 
the Lyceum." 

Mr. Laurence Hutton, in his interesting and valua- 
ble " Plays and Players," gives the following account 
of that performance : 

" The curtain rose to a crowded house on a scene at 
rehearsal, after the manner of Sheridan's ' Critic.' The 
actors and actresses, in their ordinary street dresses, 
looking in every respect like the not more than ordi- 
nary men and women they really were ... It was 
the green-room proper of a theater, with all the green- 
room accessories and surroundings, the scenes and in- 
cidents, concords and discords of a green-room gath- 
ering. ... Mr. Dunn as Mr. Dunn, Tom the Call 
Boy as Tom, and Mrs. Vernon as Mrs. Vernon were 
very natural of course, and very funny . . . The 
audience was thoroughly interested and amused at 
the realism of the performance, when, l Enter Mrs. 
B.' the scene changes, and the ' Row at the Lyceum ' 
begins. While she greets her friends, looks over her 
part, objects to her business, and lays claim to some- 
thing more in her line, a stout, middle-aged gentleman 
seated in the middle of the pit, clothed in Quakerish 
garb, who had hitherto quietly listened to and laughed 
with the rest, rises suddenly in his place with umbrella 
firmly clasped in both hands and held up on a line 



Cicatrical Caricature^ 37 



with his nose, and to the astonishment of the house, 
calmly and sedately addresses the stage and the house 
in words to this effect : ' That woman looks for all the 
world like Clementina ! Her voice is very like — the 
form the same.' And then with emphasis: ' It is my 
wife — ' at the same time leaving his seat in great ex- 
citement, he rushes toward the foot-lights, and cries 
wildly and loudly, ' Come off that stage, thou miser- 
able woman ! ' 

" The utmost confusion reigned in the theater. The 
audience, at first amused by the interruption, seeing 
that the Quaker gentleman was in earnest, soon took 
sides for or against him, and saluted him with all 
sorts of encouraging and discouraging cries, as he 
fought his way toward the orchestra. . . . 

" Up in the third tier, in a corner near the stage, in 
prominent position, visible to all, was one particularly 
' gallus ' boy — a fireman, red-shirted, soap-locked, 
with tilted tile, a pure specimen of the now obsolete 
b'hoy — Mose himself. He added greatly to the ex- 
citement of the scene, by the loud and personal in- 
terest he seemed to take in the proceedings, and 
promised to give the indignant husband a sound 
lamming if he ventured to lay a hand on that young 
'oman ; volunteering if the indignant husband would 
wait for him to go down and do it then and there ; 
proceeding then and there to go down and do it ! 

"At this stage of the proceedings, the dramatic per- 
formances of ' Green Room Secrets ' were entirely 
stopped. The artists were utterly unable to proceed 
on account of the uproar in front. . . . 



38 Cicatrical Caricature^ 

" All this time the irate husband was struggling to 
reach his wife. He finally climbed over the orchestra, 
the red-shirted defender of the young woman close 
behind him, when both were collared by a policeman 
or two, dragged upon the stage, made to face the 
house, the regulation stage semicircle was formed 
behind the footlights, and the epilogue was spoken, 
the audience beginning to recognize in the efficient 
policemen the supes of the establishment ; in the fire- 
laddie of the soap-lock and tilted tile, Mr. W. J. 
Florence; in the indignant husband, Mr. Brougham 
himself; in the recovered wife, Mrs. Brougham; and 
to realize that the ' Row at the Lyceum ' was a pre- 
meditated and magnificent sell." 

After this, the conquest of the town was no task, and 
Florence soon became a favorite. In 1853 he married 
Miss Malvina Pray, and they shared success together 
for many years after. They were very successful in a 
London engagement at Drury Lane, in 1856, and 
later in a joint starring tour over the United States. 
In 1863 Florence made his first appearance as Bob 
Brierly in the famous " Ticket-of-Leave Man," which 
was played for thousands of nights throughout the 
country. It is in this character that Gladding has 
chosen to caricature him. As George VAlroy in 
that rather dreary old play " Caste," he made another 
hit and started the play on a long career. Mrs. Flor- 
ence played Polly Eccles, and I can imagine her as 
nothing less than delightful as that breezy and uncon- 
ventional young lady. " Caste " was followed by 
" No Thoroughfare " and a revival of " Dombey and 



Cicatrical Caricature^ 39 

Son " in which he took Burton's old part of Captain 
Cuttle, playing it admirably too. He not only took 
Burton's part but wore Burton's clothes, iron hook and 
all ; and there is a very good story in connection with 
this that has n't been often told before. Florence, as 
every one knows, was a great practical joker, and 
among his many butts was one Gus Fenno, an actor 
in the company, who laid himself particularly open to 
practical jesting as he was a spiritualist. At one of the 
early rehearsals of " Dombey and Son," when Florence 
appeared at the prompter's table, he found Fenno there 
and tremendous rappings sounded. "What is the 
matter now ? " questioned Florence, laughingly. 
" Burton is here," answered Fenno. " What does he 
say ? " asked Florence. " He says ' Tell that fellow 
to take my clothes off,' " replied Fenno amid a roar 
of laughter. 

Luckily Florence refused. And with this group of 
characters, Obefireizer (in " No Thoroughfare ") D'Al- 
roy, Brierly, and Captain Cuttle, he busied himself 
mostly during the next few years. 

In 1875, ne created a new character, however, and 
one which the theater-goer of to-day knows better than 
any other. As Mr. Hutton says : " Bar dwell Slote is 
destined to walk down to posterity arm in arm with 
Rip Van Winkle, Joe Bunker, Solon Shingle^ Davy 
Crockett and Colonel Sellers, the typical stage Ameri- 
can of the nineteenth century and Mr. Florence's 
most enduring character." He was certainly inimi- 
tably droll and amusing as the M. C. for the Cohosh 
District, as was Mrs. Florence in the character of Mrs. 



4o Cicatrical Caricatured 

General Gilflory. "The Mighty Dollar" had no 
particular merit as a comedy, but it served the Flor- 
ences as a peg on which to hang two of their most 
humorous characters. 

It was in 1889 that he joined Jefferson, and in con- 
junction with Mrs. John Drew gave "The Rivals" 
and later "The Heir-at-Law." He died in 1891, 
leaving a host of friends to mourn a genial, honest 
gentleman, and the stage a loser by the loss of his 
humorous art. 



3(ot»n <£♦ <©toeng* 




JOHN E. OWENS 



JOHN E. OWENS. 



IN that wonderful record of a wonderful life, " The 
Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson," the author has 
this to say of a visit to the St. Charles Theater, in 
New Orleans, during the war, and when he was but a 
rising young comedian : 

" At last he came, and certainly he conquered. As 
he entered briskly upon the stage, humming a 
sprightly song, I thought him the handsomest low 
comedian I had ever seen. He had a neat dapper 
little figure and a face full of lively expression. His 
audience was with him from first to last, his effective 
style and great flow of animal spirits capturing them 
and myself too, though I must confess that I had a 
hard struggle even inwardly to acknowledge it. 

"As I look back and call to mind the slight touch of 
envy that I felt that night, I am afraid that I had 
hoped to see something not quite so good, and was 
a little annoyed to find him such a capital actor ; in 
short, I experienced those unpleasant twinges of jeal- 
ousy that will creep over us during the moments when 
we are not at our best — though these feelings may 
occasionally produce a good result. In me, I know, 

43 



44 Cicatrical Caricature^ 



it stirred up the first great ambition that I remember 
ever to have felt, and from that night of pleasure and 
excitement I resolved to equal Owens some day, if I 
could." Flattering testimony, indeed, from one great 
comedian to the abilities of another. 

John Edward Owens was born in Liverpool in 
1824, and was brought when but a child by his par- 
ents to this country, where they settled in Philadel- 
phia ; and it was in Philadelphia that when but a lad 
he appeared at the National Theater, then under 
Burton's management, as a super. It was not long, 
however, before he became a general utility man, and 
eventually a valuable member of the stock company, 
playing engagements both in Philadelphia and Balti- 
more. It was in the season of 1846-47 that Jefferson 
saw him at the St. Charles in New Orleans as first 
low comedian with Mr. and Mrs. Charles Keene 
and Mrs. James Wallack in the company. He was 
soon back in Baltimore and Philadelphia, and in 
" A Glance at Philadelphia," one of those plays of 
purely local interest, he made an enormous hit as 
Jakey, the fire-laddie — (everybody in those days 
seems to have made hits as fire-laddies) — and filled 
Burton's treasury to such an extent that he was able 
to come over to New York and lease the Chambers 
Street Theater, which afterward brought him fame 
and fortune too. 

The season of 185 1 found him making his first bow 
to a New York audience. He played Uriah Heep in 
an adaptation of " David Copperfield " at Brougham's 
Lyceum, a departure from the usual character of his 



€l)eatrical Caricature^ 45 

parts, but undertaken with no less success. He fin- 
ished the season in New York and then took the play 
about the country. 

It was during a Philadelphia engagement, however, 
in 1856-57, that the famous " Solon Shingle " first ap- 
peared before the public. The play was called " The 
People's Lawyer " in those days, and was originally in 
two acts. Owens was so pleased with the part that 
he carefully elaborated it, rearranged it, and put it on 
shelf for future use. Meanwhile he was to make 
a tremendous hit in a part that is entirely associated, 
by us of to-day, with the genius of Jefferson. He 
played Caleb Plummer in Boucicault's adaptation of 
" The Cricket on the Hearth " in New Orleans, where 
he was then managing the Varieties Theater, in 1859. 
It had the unprecedented run — for those days — of 
two months, and was always afterwards one of his 
most popular characters. Six years later, in August, 
1865, Owens commenced an engagement at the Broad- 
way Theater, under the management of George Wood. 
" Solon Shingle " was the after-piece, and before a week 
had passed his delineation of the old farmer became the 
sensation of the town. The house was packed nightly, 
and the catch phrases of the piece became current in 
the town, and the mere mention of the "bar'l of apple 
sass " brought a twinkle to every eye. On its hun- 
dredth performance, one of the leading papers drew 
attention to its remarkable run, as follows : " In one 
hundred days France passed through the throes of two 
revolutions — lost a king, gained an emperor, and again 
bowed to a king. In one hundred days Napoleon 



46 Cicatrical Caricature^ 



left Elba, marched to the throne of France, fought 
Waterloo, and was conquered. In one hundred nights 
John Owens fought a fight for popularity single-handed 
against the hordes of New York theater-goers and 
conquered them. In one hundred nights the Broad- 
way Theater passed from the position of a concert hall 
to the height of fashion. We take pleasure in chron- 
icling such victories. ' Solon Shingle ' will run addi- 
tional hundreds of nights, if this great artist chooses." 
Which shows that the advertising agent of those days 
was a much milder creature than his modern prototype. 
At the end of six months — although its popularity had 
in no way abated — Owens got tired of playing the 
part and substituted in its stead Caleb Plummer, who 
met with just as cordial a welcome. After the end 
of the New York season Owens accepted an offer 
from Benjamin Webster, then managing the Adelphi 
in London, for an engagement of six weeks, which 
was afterward extended, and " Solon Shingle " pro- 
ceeded to amuse the sophisticated society of the 
English metropolis. 

To further chronicle Owens's career would be but 
to repeat. His position as one of our greatest come- 
dians was assured, and the next twenty years of his 
life were given up to an appreciative public. In 1882 
he played the part of Elbert Rogers in " Esmeralda " 
during its lengthy run at the Madison Square Theater, 
and afterward on tour. His last appearance in New 
York was at the Harlem Theater in " Solon Shingle." 
He was taken ill during that engagement, and practi- 
cally retired from the stage. He died in 1886. 



frantic £♦ CJ>anfim 









F. S. CHANFRAU. 



FRANCIS S. CHANFRAU. 



IT was at Mitchell's Olympic, Number 444 Broad- 
way, that F. S. Chanfrau, then a youngster of 
twenty-four, first forced himself prominently before 
the New York theater-goer, and he held his position 
for over thirty years. He was a New York boy to 
begin with, born here in 1824, and raised. He re- 
ceived an ordinary common-school education, and 
learned the ship-carpenter's trade. " Becoming ad- 
dicted," as Mr. Ireland quaintly puts it, "to private 
theatricals," he eventually found his way as a super- 
numerary to the Bowery Theater, and afterward 
made quite a little reputation for himself as a mimic. 
His imitations of Forrest, Booth, and others were ex- 
cellent, and led on to more important things. He 
went the round of the New York theaters, gaining 
a valuable and diversified experience, which enabled 
him when his opportunity came to seize it. It came 
on the night of February 15, 1848. Baker, the 
prompter of the theater, had hurriedly thrown to- 
gether for his benefit night a piece which he called 
" New York in 1848," afterward called "A Glance at 
New York." It was practically the same thing that 
7 49 



so Cicatrical Caricature^ 

Owens did in Philadelphia, the same year, both pieces 
being localized to suit their native towns. Owens's 
Jakey was a counterpart of Chanfrau's Mose, both tough 
fire b'hoys. Mr. Lawrence Hutton in his " Curiosities 
of the American Stage " says : " It [the play] had no 
literary merit and no pretensions thereto ; and it would 
never have attracted public attention but for the won- 
derful ' b'hoy ' of the period played by F. S. Chan- 
frau — one of those accidental but complete successes 
upon the stage which are never anticipated, and which 
cannot always be explained. He wore the 'soap 
locks ' of the period, the plug hat with a narrow black 
band, the red shirt, the trousers turned up — without 
which the genus was never seen ; and he had a pecu- 
liarly sardonic curve of the lip, expressive of more im- 
pudence, self-satisfaction, suppressed profanity, and 
' general cussedness ' than Delsarte ever dared to put 
in any single facial gesture." A vivid picture, indeed, 
and one which the reader will recognize in the minia- 
ture figure in the left-hand corner of the plate. Mose 
took New York by storm, and the country, too, for 
that matter, and assured Chanfrau's future. To show 
the wonderful vitality of the piece, and incidentally of 
Chanfrau himself, I quote from a letter which he wrote 
in 1874 to Mr. Joseph N. Ireland. " The original run 
of ' Mose ' in all its modifications (' A Glance at New 
York ' was followed by Mose all over the world : 
' Mose in California,' ' Mose in a Muss,' ' Mose in 
China,' and so on) covered three years and six months, 
a portion of which time the first version was performed 
for several weeks at two theaters, the Olympic and 



€fjeatrital Caricatured 5 1 

the National, in New York on the same night, and 
for one week within that period at three theaters on 
the same evening — the two above mentioned, and at 
the Newark (N. J.) Theater. Altogether, I have 
given in the twenty-six years which have elapsed since 
the first presentation of Mose something in excess of 
twenty-two hundred representations of the character. 
" Respecting ' Sam' I can speak with great confidence. 
Of that play I have thus far given seven hundred and 
eighty-three performances. ' Kit,' a more recent but 
equally prosperous specialty, I have already performed 
five hundred and sixty times." 

Of Chanfrau's Mose Mr. Ireland says : " His por- 
traiture was perfect in every particular — dress, manner, 
gait, tone, action — and the character is as inseparably 
identified with him as Paul Pry with Hilson. Delph 
with Burns, Jemmy Twitcher with John Sexton; 
Crummies with Mitchell ; Captain Cuttle with Burton, or 
Our American Cousin with young Jefferson (young Jef- 
ferson !). Mr. Chanfrau's immense success in this char- 
acter has been somewhat detrimental to his standing 
in his native city in a more elevated range of the 
drama; some squeamish connoisseurs insisting that an 
artist cannot excel in parts dissimilar. The conclu- 
sion, however, is unwarrantable and unjust, for his 
versatility, although unbounded in aim, is almost un- 
equaled in merit, and his name is ever a reliable source 
of attraction and profit in almost every other city of 
the Union in a much higher grade of character. Mr. 
Chanfrau is decidedly handsome, and, divested of the 
dress and attributes of Mose, his appearance and man- 



52 €J)eatricaI Caricature^ 



ners are those of a well-bred gentleman, and we are 
assured that his private life and character are such as 
to entitle him to the highest respect." 

A naive tribute to the character and ability of 
the man, " squeamish connoisseurs " notwithstanding. 
Jefferson was not one of these, for he writes of him : 

" When I first saw him he was extremely handsome. 
He was modest, too, and manly. These qualities are 
so rarely allied to beauty, that Chanfrau comes back 
to my remembrance as quite a novelty. He had suc- 
cess enough to have turned his head, but he bore it 
bravely, so that he must have been as well poised in 
his mind as he was in his person." 

Chanfrau married in 1858 Miss Henrietta Baker of 
Cincinnati, who as Henrietta Chanfrau, holds an im- 
portant place in the annals of the New York stage. 

De Walden's comedy of " Sam," in which he played 
the title-role, was Chanfrau's next important eccen- 
tric essay, and its success was enormous. In the plate 
Sam is the little gentleman on the right and he is no 
other than Lord Dundreary's idiot brother. Both 
Mose and Sam were long before my theatrical or any 
other days, but I have thrilling recollections of his 
" Kit, the Arkansas Traveller," and a wonderful Kit 
he was, full of dash, fire, and intrepidity ; as ready with 
his " gun " as with his bowie knife, and wreaking a 
terrible vengeance on the villain. It was the last part 
he ever played, and he was in the harness till the very 
last. He died suddenly in Jersey City, leaving his 
wife and a son, Frank, who is playing Kit to this day, 
I believe, about the country. 



George %. for* 
















f 



«i 



-*&b$z» 



mmmmm 




GEORGE L. FOX. 



GEORGE L. FOX. 



GEORGE L. FOX was born in 1825, and his the- 
atrical experience began about as soon after- 
ward as it conveniently could. When he was five 
years old he appeared at the Tremont Street Theater, 
Boston, in " The Children of the Alps/' and from that 
time on the theater was school, college, and career for 
him. He first appeared in New York at the National 
Theater, in 1851, as Christopher Strap, and continued 
to play there for several years in a variety of charac- 
ters, excelling as Mark Meddle, Jaqnes Strop, Box, 
Cox, and other strong individual parts. He played 
Bottom later in a gorgeous production of " Midsum- 
mer Night's Dream," and old playgoers still talk about 
it, though undoubtedly old playgoers' rhapsodies have 
to be taken with a grain of salt, for they invariably 
see the palmy days through the big end of the glass. 

His travesty on " Hamlet " at the Olympic in 1870 
was inimitable, and ran for ten weeks. Mr. Laurence 
Hutton, who fortunately for us combines the attributes 
and experience of old playgoers and young in one, 
tells us of this performance that " although not an im- 
provement upon the original acting version of the tra- 

55 



56 Cicatrical Caricature^ 



gedy, it was an improvement on the general run of 
burlesques of its generation. It did not depend upon 
blue lights or upon anatomical display, and it did not 
harrow up the young blood of its auditors by its hor- 
rible plays upon unoffending words. It followed the 
text of Shakspere closely enough to preserve the plot 
of the story; it contained, as well, a great deal that 
was ludicrous and bright, and it never sank into imbe- 
cility or indelicacy, which is saying much for bur- 
lesque. Mr. Fox, one of the few really funny men of 
his day upon the American stage, was at his best in 
this travesty of < Hamlet.' Quite out of the line of 
the pantomimic clown by which he is now remem- 
bered, it was as supremely absurd, as expressed upon 
his face and in his action, as was his Humpty JDumpty. 
It was perhaps more a burlesque of Edwin Booth — 

— after whom, in the character, he played and dressed 

— than of Hamlet, and probably no one enjoyed this 
more thoroughly, or laughed at it more heartily than 
did Mr. Booth himself. While Fox at times was won- 
derfully like Booth in attitude, look, and voice, he 
would suddenly assume the accent and expression of 
Fechter, whom he counterfeited admirably, and, again, 
give a most intense passage in the wonderfully deep 
tones of Studley, at the Bowery. To see Mr. Fox 
pacing the platform before the Castle of Elsinore, pro- 
tected against the eager and the nipping air of the 
night by a fur cap and collar, and with mittens and 
arctic overshoes over the traditional costume of Ham- 
let ; to see the woful melancholy of his face as he 
spoke the most absurd of lines ; to watch the horror 



€{jeatrical tfaricatiure^. 57 



expressed upon his countenance when the Ghost ap- 
peared; to hear his familiar conversation with that 
Ghost, and his untraditional profanity when com- 
manded by the Ghost to l swear,' — all expressed, now 
in the style of Fechter, now of Studley, now of Booth, 
— was as thoroughly and ridiculously enjoyable as any 
piece of acting our stage has seen since Burton and 
Mitchell were at their funniest, so many years before." 
But it is as a clown that Fox's name will be handed 
down. Many people seem to think that it is too bad 
his reputation should rest on such a flimsy foundation. 
Mr. Winter has written for instance that " George L. 
Fox was of no intellectual power, but he was very 
expert in his peculiar vocation." Peculiar vocation ! 
As if pantomime was not one of the legitimate and 
most artistic forms of the drama, requiring a quicker, 
subtler intelligence to interpret it than the ordinary 
actor usually possesses. Fox was a master at it, and 
his name will stand as long as Grimaldi's. Mr. Win- 
ter adds : " He made clowning a fine art. His field 
was not high, but within it he was a chieftain. His 
vein of humor was real and rich. His drollery was 
spontaneous and irresistible. He took delight in his 
occupation, and therefore he had a firm grasp upon 
sympathy. His artistic method was sure and clear. 
(The italics are mine.) He knew the precise value of 
repose contrasted with movement. His stillness was 
sometimes the most vivid and humorous action 
in its practical effect. By a single gesture he could 
flash an entire process of thought upon the beholders' 
comprehension. His assumption of perfect innocence, 
8 



58 €|)eatricai Caricatured 



and of docile goodness that is unjustly and cruelly 
abused, was one of the best bits of art, and one of the 
funniest spectacles that the stage has afforded. Fox's 
clown was not a common mummer, and he might well 
have said, * Mistake me not for my complexion.' He 
enriched the harmless enjoyment of his time; he 
gained rank and honor by legitimate means, and he 
wore them with modesty and grace." Rather good 
testimony in favor of a man with a " peculiar voca- 
tion." He played in different versions of his 
" Humpty Dumpty " over fifteen hundred times; for 
the last time in November 25, 1875, at Booth's Thea- 
ter. He died shortly after. 



£t)arfe£ C I©J>ite anb SDan 25rpant 










CHARLES WHITE. 



CHARLES T. WHITE AND 
DAN BRYANT. 



THE story of Charley White and Dan Bryant is 
practically the story of negro minstrelsy in New 
York. White was born in 182 1, and from the time 
he was a mere lad took part in public performances. 
The first minstrel company in New York was organ- 
ized in 1843, and the next year White started a com- 
pany of his own which he called "The Kitchen Min- 
strels." They opened on the second floor of the 
building at Broadway and Chambers Street. A bio- 
graphical scrap of White says: "The first floor was 
occupied by Tiffany and Ellis, jewellers ; the third by 
the renowned Ottignon as a gymnasium. Here, where 
the venerable Palmo had introduced to delighted 
audiences the Italian opera, and regaled them with 
fragrant Mocha coffee handed around by obsequious 
waiters, he first came prominently before the public." 
He afterward, in 1846, opened The Melodeon, at 53 
Bowery, and later, White's Athenaeum, at 585 Broad- 
way. For many years he was associated as manager 
or performer with almost every minstrel entertainment 
in New York : with the " Virginia Serenaders," " The 

61 



62 Cicatrical Caricature^ 

Ethiopian Operatic Brotherhood," "The Sable Sisters 
of Ethiopian Minstrels," " The New York Minstrels," 
and so on. He was instrumental in introducing to 
the stage Daniel Webster O'Brien, better known as 
Dan Bryant, probably the most famous minstrel of 
them all. He was born in Troy in 1833, and when 
twelve years old made his first appearance in New 
York at the Vauxhall Garden, as a dancer. From then 
on he followed the profession of minstrel and come- 
dian, with increasing success and popularity. In 1857, 
in partnership with his brothers Neil and Jerry, he 
organized a minstrel company called the " Cork- 
onians," and opened at Mechanic's Hall, 472 Broad- 
way. In July, 1863, he essayed the Irish character 
of Handy Andy at the Wintergarden Theater, and so 
successfully that he gave up burnt cork for a while, 
and traveled as a " white " star about this country 
and England. He returned to minstrelsy, though, in 
1868, and played the darky till his death in 1875. 

Mr. William Winter, in his " Brief Chronicles," says 
of him that he " was one of the gentlest and merriest 
of men, and he passed his life making innocent laugh- 
ter for everybody and in doing good. Privately and 
publicly he was a generous, unselfish, genial per- 
son. . . . 

" He had a droll humour and fine animal spirits, 
and his Irishmen were natural and interesting. " 




DAN BRYANT. 



iMUam I©ljeatlep. 




WILLIAM WHEATLEY. 



WILLIAM WHEATLEY. 



ON March 9, 1804, a small building in Bedlow 
Street, New York, was opened as the Grove 
Theater, with a company of what the chronicler calls 
" inferior performers." " Of these," he adds, " Mr. 
Frederick Wheatley must be noticed as the husband 
and father of a most talented wife and children. He 
was afterward attached for many years to the Park 
Theater." This Frederick Wheatley was an Irish- 
man — a Trinity College Irishman — as I have heard 
him described, who strayed to this country as a player 
and singer. In 1805 he married a Miss Ross, the 
daughter of an officer in the British army, who had 
joined the Park Theater company, and who retired 
after her marriage to private life, only to enter the 
lists again later. The chronicler says of her that 
" severe study, long practice, and the strictest adher- 
ence to nature, finally gave her the position she aimed 
at, and for more than twenty years, in the line of 
comic, middle-aged old women, rich or poor, refined 
or vulgar — indeed, of every grade, she was entirely 
unrivaled on the American stage. Her reputation re- 
sulted from the combination of perfect good sense 
9 65 



66 €|jeatncaJ Caricature^ 

with accurate discrimination of character, fine artistic 
taste, an agreeable face and person, and the most 
thorough executive ability. Becoming independent 
in her resources, with her daughters handsomely 
settled in marriage, and her son William enjoying a 
high professional reputation, Mrs. Wheatley in 1843 
finally bade farewell to the stage, and had the nerve to 
resist the tempting offer of $1000 for reappearance, for 
a single night, in the character of Mrs. Malaprofi. She 
had passed her eighty-fourth birthday when she died." 

This artistic and exemplary lady was the mother, 
and Mr. Frederick Wheatley was the father, of the 
subject of this sketch, who, though entirely forgotten 
to-day, save by the very old playgoer or actor, was in 
his time a young actor of decided ability, and later a 
metropolitan manager of note and success. 

Mr. Joseph N. Ireland, whose invaluable services 
to the history of our local stage I can only too poorly 
acknowledge, gives the record of his stage career as 
follows : " Mr. Macready appeared as William Tell 
(October 12, 1826), with Master William Wheatley as 
Albert, who attracted much notice by the good judg- 
ment he evinced in its performance. He soon after- 
ward appeared as Tom Thumb, and for two or three 
years was the principal representative of the Park 
juveniles. In 1833 he was at the Bowery in the low- 
est part of a walking gentleman. In the summer of 
1834 he reappeared at the Park in a more elevated 
range of the same line, and gradually worked his way 
into public favor by his sensible personations of 
whatever was intrusted to his care. 



€tjcatrical Caricature^ 6 7 

" In the long catalogue of characters then assigned to 
him — such as Laertes ; Henry in ' Speed the Plough ' ; 
Michael in ' Victorine ' ; Nicholas Nickleby, Charles 
Courtly, and Henry Moreland in ' The Heir-at-Law " 
(which Charles Kemble did not disdain to play in 
London), — we do not remember to have seen his equal ; 
while as Sir Thomas Clifford, Alfred Evelyn and 
Claude Melnotte, he played with a truthful earnest- 
ness that quite eclipsed the efforts of more pretending 
performers. His temperament was scarcely mercurial 
enough to give due effect to the Vapids, the Gossamers, 
and Dazzles of light comedy, nor, although he per- 
fectly satisfied the eye as Hamlet and Romeo, would 
his rendition of them rank with their first representa- 
tives. Mr. Wheatley left the Park Theater in 1843, 
but fulfilled a star engagement there in 1847, m con " 
junction with his sister, Mrs. James Mason. He was 
for several years a resident of Philadelphia, where he 
played exclusively the highest grades of character, and 
as actor and manager enjoyed great popularity. (Dur- 
ing his sojourn in Philadelphia, he managed the Arch 
Street Theater in partnership with the elder John 
Drew.) 

"In January, 1862, he reappeared at Niblo's Garden 
in conjunction with Mr. and Mrs. J. Wallack, Jr., Mrs. 
Barrow, and Mr. E. L. Davenport, and soon rein- 
stated himself in the good opinion of his audience, by 
many of whom he was almost forgotten. In the sum- 
mer of that year he became sole lessee and manager 
of that establishment, and still remains there, popular 
and prosperous, having given it a character for the 



68 Cicatrical Caricature^ 



production of romantic and spectacular dramas not 
previously enjoyed by any theater in the city. 

" The splendid ' getting up ' and success of the 
1 Duke's Motto,' in which his performance of Henri de 
Lagardere received the most rapturous applause ; of 
the ' Corsican Brothers,' wherein he was equally happy 
as Louis and Fabien ; of ' Satanella ' and the ' En- 
chantress ' with Mr. Richings and daughter ; ' Bel 
Demonio' with Mademoiselle Vestvali; the ' Connie 
Soogah ' with Mr. and Mrs. Williams, and ' Arra na 
Pogue,' are the best proofs of his judgment, taste, and 
liberality." 

It was during this period of management that the 
famous " Black Crook " was produced, and it is at this 
period that the caricaturist has depicted him, sur- 
rounded by the goblins, fairies, and supernatural crea- 
tures of that supernatural production. He was one 
of several who made their " everlasting fortunes " out 
of that successful play, and he was lost to public view 
in a mist of profits. 



SUntonio $a£toi% 




TONY PASTOR. 






ANTONIO PASTOR. 



AT last a contemporary stares us in the face, and 
Jl\. may he continue to do so for years to come ! 
Tony Pastor was born in Greenwich Street, New 
York, in 1840, and fortunately, is able to tell his own 
story. 

That there is undoubtedly " a divinity that shapes our ends " 
my life story demonstrates. From my earliest childhood I was 
possessed with a desire to " strut upon the mimic stage," a de- 
sire that at the age of eight found me at the head of a dozen 
boys managing a penny circus in the back yard of my parents' 
residence, and before my tenth year appearing upon a real stage 
and singing as an infant prodigy before a real audience of adults ; 
at fifteen, a full-fledged performer in a circus, and before I at- 
tained my majority, a manager and proprietor of amusement 
ventures. 

My father, who was a very skilful musician, was a prominent 
soloist in a grand orchestra that gave promenade concerts in the 
Old Castle Garden on the style of the Julien concerts, afterward 
so famous in Europe and America. He also was for a long time 
one of the orchestra of the Park Theater in its earliest days, 
when the life of New York city was all below Canal Street, and 
Bleecker Street was to the city what upper Fifth Avenue is to- 
day, and often have I listened with wonder to his narration of 
events that had come to his notice when he would relate to my 
mother the scenes at the theater, with bits of chat and gossip of 

71 



72 Cicatrical Caricatured 



the society folk who attended, the popular actors, and the excit- 
ing plays. All these little bits were working toward my destiny, 
" this life upon the stage," where I have wrought with more or less 
success from childhood to manhood, surrounded often by diffi- 
culty, rewarded with some triumphs attended with many happy 
incidents, some sorrows, much that has been of delight, and at 
length into the pleasanter waters of established favor, where I 
now glide along thankful to friends, and with a happy, kindly 
affection for fellows. 

My first managerial difficulty came with my first managerial 
effort. I was then about eight years of age, and was the leader 
of a dozen boys who organized a theatrical performance to be 
presented in the cellar of my father's house. Our first proceed- 
ing was to pack to one side the winter's fuel, which in those 
days was principally of wood, coal being as yet a luxury. Then 
from our mothers' household stores we abstracted sundry quilts, 
curtains, bits of furniture, and other properties, all of which 
were quietly conveyed to our theater (the cellar) with great cau- 
tion, because my father was much at home in the daytime, and 
would not countenance our transactions. In fact, to him was 
due the ultimate failure of the project, and the abandonment of 
our grand company, as will appear later on. Well, having got- 
ten together the needed articles, we constructed a proscenium of 
clothes-horses and bed-quilts, a drop-curtain purloined from 
some mother's camphor-chest, a stage built upon upright barrels, 
and seats of neatly piled cordwood. Then came the great diffi- 
culty — the scenery. We could never get along without that, so 
I decided to sacrifice one of my mother's best linen sheets, and 
with burnt cork for crayon, I depicted the battlements of an 
English castle, with a background sadly lacking in perspective. 

Our preparations being all complete, we eagerly awaited the 
coming of Saturday's holiday from school, when we should be 
able to give our first performance. In due course the time 
came around, and our audience assembled, paying their admission 
fee in pins, marbles, and other bric-a-brac usual in boys' barter. 
Our play was extempore and Richard III bore strange resem- 
blance to Hamlet, Nick of the Woods, and Schnapps in the 



Cicatrical Caricature^ 73 



" Naiad Queen," while Ophelia danced a hornpipe with Macbeth 
or Faktaff, I don't remember exactly which at this time. I sang 
comic songs, but was compelled to stop in the midst of the strain 
to caution the boys to suppress their enthusiasm and its atten- 
dant noise, for I knew my respected papa would not relish the 
proceedings should they come to his notice. However, we es- 
caped any trouble from that source, and the following Saturday, 
emboldened by success, we were less cautious. One of the boys, 
afterward a well-known actor, was shouting for a horse, the 
audience were shouting themselves hoarse, when with utter ter- 
ror I recognized the familiar creak of my father's boots coming 
down the stairs. I gave the cue to run, and without disrobing 
our mimic kings and queens tumbled over the audience in a mad 
race for the street. The wild scramble so amused my parent 
that he forgot to be angry, and so I escaped punishment. 

At the time of this escapade I was a pupil at the Thames Street 
school, and at one of our exhibitions received a prize for elocu- 
tion. My recitation was entitled " You 'd Scarce Expect One of 
My Age " ; and having at that time attracted the attention of 
some visitors, I was selected to aid in a temperance revival, then 
in progress at Dey Street Hall, by the Hand in Hand Society, 
where I made my debut as a public entertainer, and was launched 
upon the career that destiny had carved for me. 

At the time of which I am writing negro minstrelsy was in 
its earliest days and a mere skeleton of what it has since be- 
come. Minstrel bands then consisted of five or six performers, 
without orchestra other than the banjo, bones, tambourine, tri- 
angle, or jawbone. I had seen the original Virginia Serenaders 
at the Park Theater, and was ambitious to be an end man, or, as 
our English cousins term them, "a corner man." One day I 
had the good fortune to find on the street a two-dollar bill, 
which I invested forthwith in a tambourine and a negro wig, 
made in those days of cloth listing. I soon joined with a party 
who were giving concerts on the steamboat Raritan, Captain 
Fisher, which then plied between New York city and Staten 
Island, my object being to gain experience and practice until a 
better opportunity should offer for presenting my genius to an 
10 



74 €{jeatrical Caricature^ 



admiring public. My next move was to attach myself to a min- 
strel band then showing at Croton Hall, at Division and Chatham 
streets. I was not employed, but was rather a volunteer, and 
used to carry water for the comedian. 

At Croton Hall I got an occasional opportunity to display my 
ability ; but my father now interfered and sent me off to the 
country to " cure me of the nonsense," but my dear parent could 
not hew out my career in the rough. I was no sooner in the 
country than I was in full blast as an amateur entertainer, and 
the whole country grew to know Tony Pastor " the clever boy 
from New York." My services were in demand for parties and 
church affairs. On one occasion, while traveling a country road, 
a young farmer stopped me and caused me to mount a hay 
wagon and do a song and dance for the amusement of his hay- 
makers, put a dollar in my hand, and sent me on my way. I 
soon tired of country life and returned to New York, and my 
parents, seeing that my inclination could not be diverted, gave 
up their opposition, and I entered the service of P. T. Barnum 
at the famous Barnum's Museum, corner of Broadway and Ann 
streets, where I was regarded as a sort of infant prodigy, and 
where I attracted the attention of Colonel Alvan Mann, one of 
the proprietors of Raymond & Waring's Menagerie, who en- 
gaged me as an end man, — or rather end boy, as I was not yet 
fourteen years old, — and I went out into the world at last as a 
performer ; and my dream was at length realized. 

Having become a professional performer I soon felt the mana- 
gerial bee buzzing in my bonnet ; and it was not long before I 
started my first venture in this wise. At that time the menagerie 
and circus did not perform at night, day performances only being 
deemed profitable in the country towns. I organized a concert 
troupe and minstrel show, and would hire a school or court- 
house, or the dining-room of the hotel, as the case might be, and 
announcing the same from the ring in the afternoon, would gen- 
erally have a good audience to reward us. As the expense gen- 
erally was at zero the profits were considerable ; but the mana- 
gers of the menagerie did not relish the idea of my making too 
much money, and they put a stop to my concerts. 



3Ttjeatrical Caricature^ 75 



Defeated, but not conquered, I purchased a number of illus- 
trated periodicals, and cutting out the pictures, mounted them 
on muslin strips in panorama style. I started a peep show. 
This consisted of a box-wagon with small peep-holes in sides 
and rear, with a tin reflector at the top to throw the light upon 
the muslin, which gave the pictures a transparent appearance, 
yet sharply defined. A team of horses, a bass drum, and plenty 
of red, white, and blue calico completed the outfit ; and with this 
I would take my stand in the market-place, or alongside the 
menagerie entrance, and with the beating of drum and clanging 
of cymbals announce " a grand panorama of the world, all to 
be seen for a sixpence," — a piece of money now obsolete, but at 
that time our principal small coin, its value six and one quarter 
cents, and in the different sections of our country variously 
termed "sixpence," "fip," and "picayune." Again the current 
of currency flowed toward my pockets. I became a walking de- 
pository of small coin — dimes, half dimes, sixpences, and shil- 
lings weighed me down, and I became the Croesus of our com- 
pany. But, alas ! again the demon of jealousy and avarice was 
on my track — this time the village constable. I was proclaim- 
ing the wonders of my panorama when he came along, and 
without paying the fee, proceeded to enjoy my show. I de- 
manded payment, which he refused. I protested in vigorous 
style, when, displaying his shield, he yanked me before the 
Town Council for doing business without a license. They fined 
me $10 for the offense, $10 for obstructing the roadway, and if 
I had not kept quiet, would have fined me $10 more for con- 
tempt of court. I pleaded inability to pay, and they confiscated 
my wagon. I disclaimed ownership of the horses, or they would 
have kept them also. And thus ended speculation number two. 

Defeated in my concerts and my peep show, I cast about for a 
new effort, and at length induced Mr. George Bunnell, who 
with his brother was owner of a small snake exhibit with the 
menagerie, to join me in organizing an annex show given in an 
extra tent under license from our proprietors, with the snakes 
and the assistance of Mr. Joseph Hazlett, a violinist, and the 
two children of Mr. Charles Sherwood, a rider in the big show. 



76 Cicatrical Caricature^ 



We gave quite a concert, dividing the profits one half to Bunnell, 
and one quarter each to Hazlett and myself. This was a great 
success, and I saved my money. 

I followed circus life for some years, being successively ring- 
master, clown, and actor, creating a Yankee part with Levi P. 
North's circus at Chicago in a horse drama — "The Days of 
'76." After this I made my appearance in New York at the 
Old Bowery as a stage clown, in a play called " The Monster of 
St. Michel's." This was before the advent of George L. Fox, 
who afterward achieved fame and fortune as a stage clown in the 
same house. I also appeared at the Bowery in comedy roles, 
playing principal comedy in " Tippoo Sahib," a burlesque founded 
on the Anglo-Indian mutiny. At that time there flourished in 
the Bowery a social coterie called "The Side-pocket Club " — a 
number of young men who, being always ready for fun, pre- 
vailed upon the stage manager to let them go on as supers for 
one night only. In the action of the play was a battle between 
the Sepoys and the British troops, with cannon fired from the 
back of elephants and other East Indian realism. The British, 
of course, were the victors ; but the Side-pocket boys, led on by 
Dan Kerrigan, turned the tables, and, as Indians, beat the Brit- 
ish army of paid supers, putting them to rout, and driving Jo- 
seph Foster, the stage manager, distracted. The battle raged 
until the curtain was rung down. 

In 1861, the mutterings of the trouble that was soon to burst 
on us with all its awful carnage and woe appalled the proprietors 
of circuses and menageries, and I sought in the variety theaters 
the employment that the tented arena gave but little promise of. 
I sang at Rivers' Melodeon in Philadelphia and later at Butler's 
American Theater, more popularly known as 444 Broadway, 
where I remained four years. One afternoon my attention was 
attracted by the crowds wending their way toward Union 
Square. I inquired the cause ; the dreaded answer came : " The 
war has begun! Fort Sumter has been fired upon! " Here 
was the culmination of all the past year's anxiety and apprehen- 
sion. I mused on the situation, and somehow I did not feel like 
singing comic songs that night. I went to a music-store and 



Cicatrical €aricature£ 77 



bought "The Star Spangled Banner." I committed the words 
to memory, and that night asked the audience to join me in its 
chorus. Such a chorus and such a cheer as went up at that 
theater ! I never heard its like before ; I never shall again. It 
was enthusiasm. But it was dreadful enthusiasm. It meant 
war ; it meant that which is now history — that struggle for the 
grand old Union ! It meant that those young men would give 
their blood to wipe out the stain ! That the Star- Spangled 
Banner should not be trailed in the dust ! 

My experience at No. 444 opened up the idea that in the va- 
riety show there was an opportunity waiting for the man — the 
man who would disentangle it from cigar-smoking and beer- 
drinking accompaniment, and I determined to make the effort. I 
laid my plans before my friends. Some shook their heads ; others 
said the idea was good and buttoned their pockets ; others en- 
thused only to grow cold soon after, until at length Sam Sharpley, 
the minstrel manager, joined hands with me, and we made our 
first bid for lady patronage at Paterson, N. J., on March 21, 
1865. Our success was good, but it took a long while to induce 
the ladies to attend in any considerable number. From Pater- 
son we journeyed to other towns, advertising freely and pledg- 
ing our reputation that the show should in no sense offend. 
That has ever been my trademark, and our moderate success 
became positive, until to-day the variety show no longer is re- 
garded as an outcast, but takes its turn in the best houses of 
America and enjoys an equal share of the best patronage. 

On the night of July 31, 1865, Mr. Sharpley and myself opened 
at No. 201 Bowery, New York city, "Tony Pastor's Opera 
House," on the site of the present People's Theater. Mr. 
Sharpley remained my partner for one season and retired, leav- 
ing me with the battle scarcely half won — leaving me sole 
owner of an idea — an idea I have worked upon, until to-day I 
am proud to say that I have demonstrated into a fact that the 
specialty stage is a valuable school to the actor; that its possi- 
bilities were greater than even its votaries then believed, and to- 
day it enjoys not only public favor, but popular distinction, while 
its foster child, farce comedy, is now the public furore. 



78 €{jeatrical Caricature^ 



I remained in the Bowery ten years, going thence to Nos. 585 
and 587 Broadway, where I remained six years, and finally to 
my present location in Fourteenth Street, where I have been 
for nine years. 

In my career I have always endeavored to extend encourage- 
ment to the young artist. On my stage many estimable actors 
and actresses who now soar high in the dramatic firmament have 
first tried their wings. The list is too well known to require men- 
tion here. Suffice it to say I have always tried to nourish bud- 
ding talent ; to say, " Well done, my boy ! " or " Bravo, lassie ! " 
and thus cheer them to braver efforts ; and I have reaped the 
reward. In the hundreds I could name there is not one who 
has proved ungrateful — a noble record for a noble profession. 







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